


Continuum

by Odestaholyship



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Slow Burn, a dash of romione but not much, dramione - Freeform, i just felt like writing dramione, we'll see where it goes!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odestaholyship/pseuds/Odestaholyship
Summary: The year is 1998, and the war is finally over. Hermione, Ron and Harry receive letters from Professor McGonagall, offering them the chance to return back to Hogwarts to finish their studies now that the dust has settled. Everything has changed. The trauma has taken its toll on the relationship between Hermione and Ron, and when they arrive at school, Hermione finds sympathy for the disgraced Draco Malfoy. The war has left its mark in everything and everyone, and it just might be that two complete opposites could find solace in each other.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. September 1st

The summer of 1998 had been a particularly warm one; the kind of heat that made your sheets stick to your skin, the kind of heat that made your thoughts indolent and just made you want to lay down and do absolutely nothing. Even the nature around the Burrow seemed affected; the tall, unkept grass was turning yellow prematurely, and even the little gnomes hiding in the bushes were far too struck by the weather to bother anyone. Everything had seemed to slow down, like the whole world was trying to recover from the effects of the war - and maybe it was. The other half of the world, anyways. Months had passed since Voldemort had faced his demise by the wand of a teenage boy, yet everything and nothing seemed different: the Burrow was as lively as ever, yet each passing moment was yet another reminder of everything that no longer was. It felt like Fred's laughter was still echoing across the cluttery rooms, bringing both joy and heartache to all that he had left behind. The rooms felt much emptier without him and his presence, and they all felt it.  
  
It had been merely a month after the battle when Professor McGonagall - now the headmistress of Hogwarts - had contacted Harry, Ron and Hermione personally with letters regarding their education that had been cut short by the war, offering the three of them the opportunity to finish their education now that they were finally able to return to their regular lives. The letters felt like a touch of reality, a pinpoint of a direction to something better - and hell, they had all been waiting for something to come and force them back into the real world. Nothing seemed quite the same after everything that had happened, but the thought of returning to Hogwarts felt like a suitable start.  
  
"Am I the only one who thinks it's completely daft that we have to go back to school after everything that we've done?" Ron asked the night they received McGonagall's letters, his long fingers nervously fidgeting with the parchment as he eyed the crackling fire that his father had lit up in the fireplace.  
  
"No one said you have to go back, Ronald," Hermione corrected as she slipped the letter in between the book she had been holding onto. "McGonagall's simply offering us the chance to do so."  
  
Harry had been particularly quiet ever since the letters. His green eyes were now fixed on the flames, his thoughts occupied by the times when Sirius had appeared in the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room years back, offering his godson an encouraging voice of advice. What Harry would have given to have him appear now, just for a minute. A minute of clarity. Everything felt out of place, and somehow the thought of returning to Hogwarts only made the feeling worse - the images of the corpses of his schoolmates splattered across the halls were burned onto his eyes, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to go back and pretend he didn't remember it all.  
  
"Didn't you say you wanted to be an auror? You can't do that if you won't finish your studies!" Ron and Hermione's bickering suddenly became clearer in Harry's ears again, and he turned his gaze to the pair sitting on the worn out couch. Their legs were touching ever so slightly, but there was something tense about the way they were leaning away from each other as they argued.  
  
"Bollocks." Ronald rolled his eyes again, shooting Harry a look of defeat. They both knew Hermione was right, but they were both also terrified of whatever waited for them back at school. "Mum's terrified of letting me out of her sights. She's been acting completely mental ever since Fred."  
  
The mention of his brother's name had an immediate effect on them all: Hermione's frail body flinched, her brown eyes quickly glancing over to the flames. Harry could feel his heart drop, but not a single word came out of his mouth as he opened it to say something - something encouraging, perhaps. Something to remind Ron that he wasn't alone. But nothing came out. Instead he forced a fragile, pitiful smile onto his lips, one that only made Ron frown.  
  
"It'll be fine, Ron," Harry eventually said, catching onto his own lies. "It'll be brilliant."  
  
**September 1st, 1998**  
  
"Ginny, are you sitting with us?" Hermione asked as she peeked into one of the empty compartments lining the narrow corridor of the train, opening the sliding door. They had just boarded the train together, leaving behind the weeping Mrs. Weasley who was holding onto her husband for dear life on the platform.  
  
Ginny shook her head, her long red hair bouncing off her shoulders as she did. "No, I'm gonna go catch up with Luna and Dean now that we're here. I'll come see you guys, though."  
  
And with that, she turned on her heels and disappeared into the steady stream of students making their way down the hallway. Harry found himself unable to tear his eyes off the back of her head, only snapping back into reality as Ron's voice sounded from the compartment him and Hermione had just entered: "Oi, Harry!"  
  
Harry felt a sting of burning jealousy when his mind repeated Ginny's words in his head, the way Dean's name had slipped off her lips so casually. It made him almost... Angry? Harry closed the sliding door behind himself, pulling down the drapes that prevented anyone from ogling them from the hallway - if there was something none of them needed, it was a bunch of first years bursting into their compartment to ask for an autograph on their potions book.  
  
"So... Dean? Are they back together with Ginny?" Harry attempted to keep his voice light as he let the words slip of his lips, his eyes meeting Hermione's over her history book. Her brow furrowed, but the expression was gone almost instantly.  
  
"You sound jealous," Hermione said calmly, flipping a rustling page as she flashed a teasing smile to the boy. "You never told us what happened with you two."  
  
Ron's eyes darted to his best friend, sudden curiosity clear in his expression. Harry felt surrounded, and for a passing moment there was a calculating look in his eyes as he tried to figure out his next move - his best mate had always been fairly protective of her little sister, so it was really up for debate how much Harry could reveal without getting smacked.  
  
"I don't know," the boy eventually answered, truthfully. "We're kind of... Taking a break."  
  
"A break? The bloody hell does that mean?" Ronald asked, leaning in closer. Hermione shot him a warning look, but the redhead didn't pay much attention to it.  
  
"You both know we tried to... You know. Be together when the war ended but it was, I don't know, odd. We've never actually had the proper opportunity to see each other without-"  
  
"Without the imminent threat of death?" Hermione chimed in cheerfully from behind her book.  
  
"Exactly. I just feel like we need some time a part to get back to where we were before everything went to hell," Harry continued, shrugging. It was clear that the subject made him nervous, as his fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of his grey hoodie, picking on the soft fabric.  
  
Ron leaned back against the cushions, shrugging. "Alright, whatever. I trust you, mate."  
  
Hermione didn't bother adding anything to the conversation, as she had gone through it with Ginny plenty of times the past few months - Harry and her had been on and off for weeks, sneaking off at night at the Burrow only to have heated arguments the next day. It had been fairly clear that neither of them were ready for a real relationship, but it took them quite long to actually press pause on their relationship - two months, to be exact. Ever since the two of them had been awfully polite to each other, clearly trying not to overstep whatever boundaries they had agreed on together. Their awkward behaviour had only made the summer at the Burrow that much more strange, and it had only laid more emphasis on the unsolved relationship of Hermione and Ron. Everyone had been curious, just waiting for them to say something - to do something! - but nothing had really happened.  
  
Except for that one kiss that one night.  
  
**July 18th, 1998**  
  
Hermione flinched as she heard the floorboards creak under her light step as she made her way down the stairwell, tiptoeing across the living room to reach the door. She opened it only to find no relief in the warm, damp night air; a frustrated huff escaped her lips as she sat down on the porch steps. The moon was illuminating the fields that surrounded the house, coloring everything an eerie silver - it reminded Hermione of the nights she had spent sitting outside their tent, keeping watch. Waiting for something, anything, to happen. Those were the nights she had felt the most despair, stuck in one place, never moving forward while a quiet threat hovered over all of them like a sharp blade. Those nights were long gone, and yet Hermione felt no better now. The war was over, yet she felt the same. She felt frozen, even if the promise of Hogwarts was a promise of change - still. She was moving backwards, and the thought terrified her like no other.  
  
Hermione felt herself flinch when she heard the door open behind her, but she didn't bother turning around to see who it was, because she knew. She knew it was Ron even before he sat down next to her, a worried look in his blue eyes as he turned his gaze from the moon to her face.  
  
"Everything alright?" Ron asked, knowing that the question was daft. They were close enough to touch now, their arms grazing at each other ever so slightly as they sat there, shoulder to shoulder.  
  
"I don't know," Hermione answered truthfully, looking down. "Everything feels odd."  
  
A slight smile twitched at the corners of Ron's lips as he nodded. "I know. I feel it too, believe it or not."  
  
"Why wouldn't I believe it?" The girl asked quietly as she turned to look at Ron, her brown eyes curious. She looked softer under the moon, younger. Slightly less tired, slightly less worn out from everything. Pretty. Beautiful.  
  
"Because," Ron started, trying to contain his smile as he looked at her. "As one witch once said, I tend to have the emotional range of a teaspoon."  
  
A smile rose onto Hermione's lips when she heard his words, the memory of the moment feeling almost ancient. God, they had been so much younger back then, even when only three years had passed - Hermione felt like a completely different person, and the thought of it terrified her. She had no idea who she even was anymore. The girl tried to find the right words for a moment, eventually settling on: "She sounds like a bright witch."  
  
"Brightest witch of her age, I've head," Ronald answered with a soft grin, his gaze burning Hermione as their humorous words slowly melted into the silence around them. His hand slowly made its way to her, his fingers brushing at the soft skin of her cheek; his touch made Hermione's skin tingle, her cheeks heating up as their eyes met again.  
  
The silence between them stretched on, but somehow it felt far more therapeutic than any conversation they could have had. They sat there for a few minutes, Ron's fingers brushing at her skin, Hermione's hand holding onto his free hand, saying nothing and everything at the same time. Everything was different. They were different. Hell, neither had no idea who they really were anymore. After a few more moments of almost melancholic silence Ron's hand made its way to the back of Hermione's neck, pulling her closer and onto his lips. It was a different type of kiss than the one they had had during the battle - this one was softer, kinder. Warmer. Less electrified, but there was still something there. If only either of them knew what that "something" really was. They sat there for a few more moments of solace, trying desperately to find the comfort they needed in each other - for some reason there wasn't much to be found, and it made them both silently restless.  
  
Hermione was the first one to pull away. "I think we should go to bed. Your mother will be furious if she finds us here at this hour."  
  
Much was left unsaid, and Ron felt it. "Okay."  
  
**September 1st, 1998**  
  
The train ride had been surprisingly mellow, and it almost seemed like everyone had sunken deep into their own thoughts. There was the occasional little joke or a quick comment about the rumors that had started circulating about the coming school year; who was returning, who wasn't. For a moment they almost felt like actual school kids again, and there was a soft comfort in the thought. It had been so long since any of them had thought much about potions or charms classes, and the closer the train got to the station, the more weight was lifted off of their shoulders. Maybe it'd be a good year, almost normal. Maybe.   
  
"I heard Malfoy's coming back," Ron broke the silence after almost an hour of silence, awakening Harry from the border of sleep and reality; the boy opened his eyes groggily, suddenly feeling almost electrified by what Ron had said.  
  
"Where'd you hear that from?" Hermione asked, worry evident in her furrowed brow. She was picking at her sweater restlessly. "Surely that can't be right."   
  
"McGonagall would be insane to let him back to Hogwarts," chimed in Harry, nodding.  
  
"My dad heard it a the ministry. Apparently McGonagall was willing to give Draco another chance ever since his parents were pardoned for their crimes," there was a venomous tone in Ronald's voice as he spat out the words, his blue eyes darkening with anger. It truly did feel insane that the son of two Death eaters would be returning to finish his studies like any other student, as if he wasn't one of the people to blame.  
  
"Lucius and Narcissa provided the Ministry valuable information, so I guess it's understandable that they'd be pardoned," Hermione pondered on her own words, unsure. Ron snickered sharply, shaking his head.  
  
"Ratted out all of their little mates, you mean. Turned their coats for one last time," the redhead said with an eye-roll, shaking his head in disbelief.   
  
Harry kept his eyes on the darkening horizon, trying to wrap his head around the fact that they'd be seeing Draco around the halls again. The last time he had seen the boy was after the battle, awkwardly sitting by the stairwell with Blaise Zabini, separated from the victory festivities. There had been a certain look of emptiness in his eyes when Harry had looked at him, one that indicated that there was no chance in hell he'd be returning. Harry shook his head to get rid of the memory of that day, returning back to reality as he said: "He's probably just gonna keep his head down and get through the year. Or I should hope so."  
  
"You two are awfully judgemental," huffed out Hermione before she could stop herself, bringing complete silence into the compartment. Ronald glanced at Harry by his side, both looking confused by the sudden outburst. "I mean, Draco's just a kid. Maybe this will be good for him."   
  
"Why are you defending a Death Eater?" Ron asked, challenging. There was a sharp edge to his voice, one that Hermione didn't like - she had heard a lot of it the past summer, and it bothered her.  
  
"He's not a Death Eater, not anymore for that matter. No one is."  
  
Disbelief was evident in Ron's expression as he leaned back into his seat, shaking his head like a disapproving parent. The silence around them was awfully tense, and it made Hermione's skin prickle. A few more minutes of utter silence continued until Ronald was the one to break it: "'Mione, the guy is a prick. Always has been, always will. And not just a prick, he's a bloody criminal!"  
  
"Fine!" Hermione snapped, slamming shut her book and awkwardly showing it into her shoulder bag. She got up onto her feet. "Fine! Apologies for trying to see the better in the boy we've known for 7 years. God, Ronald, you only see the black and white in everything! Such a brat." And with that, the girl opened the door of their compartment and slipped into the hallway.  
  
Ron followed suit, stumbling into the hallway. "Where are you going?"  
  
"To change into my robes! We'll be there soon!" Hermione yelled back venomously, not even bothering to look back to face Ron.   
  
The boy was left standing alone in the hallway, accompanied only by the curious eyes of several younger students peeking out of their compartments to see what all the racket was for; their gazes met Ron's own, their innocent eyes widening even more when they recognized him. Somehow the realization of that made the redhead only more heated. "Alright, back to whatever you were doing! The show's over!"   
  
Ron ducked back into their compartment, slumping down on the seat across from Harry. "I don't know what's gotten into her. She's mental, I'm telling you."  
  
Harry shrugged, not eager in the slightest to get into another one of the pair's arguments. The whole summer had been straight warfare, and for some reason Harry had hope that come autumn, things would change. Apparently it wasn't so. "She just needs some time."


	2. A hollow sentiment

The cool night air was nearly electric with the excited chatter of hundreds of students, the constant white noise broken every now and then by laughter as the crowd of people slowly made their way out of the train and on to the station. Somewhere above everyone else Hermione could spot Hagrid's lantern swinging, nearly bludgeoning a few fourth-year boys to the backs of their heads with it. Hagrid's deep voice was one to rise above everyone else, calling out to all the awfully small first-years; some had already gathered around him, nervously clutching their friends as their wide eyes followed the stream of older students going past them.  
  
"Blimey, they get smaller every year!" Ron noted, shaking his head when his gaze met a little boy's one. The young wizard flashed a shy smile, clearly recognizing the trio walking past him.  
  
After the war, they must have seemed like some kinds of legends walking among mere mortals, and for some reason the thought felt utterly ridiculous and terrifying all at the same time - at least to Hermione. She was the only one to respond to the boy' gesture with her own, warm smile - it was the least she could do. After all, those kids were terrified, more so after the events of last year. The truth was, none of them felt truly safe anymore, not even at Hogwarts; it would take a long while for them to feel even the slightest bit of peace in the place that used to be the one and only sanctuary of so many. Hermione's eyes slipped from the little boy to the horizon, above the trees were Hogwarts was eerily rising before them, blocking out the stars, emitting a golden light around the castle from its windows. Home. What a bittersweet word, Hermione thought to herself, shaking her head as she kept on walking, desperately trying to block out the memories of this place, of the people that had died here. Maybe this year would be better. Maybe she needed this, maybe she needed to replace the awful memories with some good ones. Maybe that would be the only way she could get some peace of mind, some decent sleep at night. Maybe the screams of her friends wouldn't haunt her slumber one day. Maybe.  
  
Hermione's somber thoughts were pulled to a violent halt when the carriages came into view. The carriages that had formerly been pulled by an unseen force; now, the creatures that she had heard so much about were standing there, in the dark, as if they had always been there. And they had. She just had been lucky enough to never witness their eerie presence. Her reaction was mirrored in many other students, most of them survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts: some pulled to a complete stop, some erupted into loud whispers. But Hermione seemed to be at a loss of words when she stared at the creatures.  
  
"Merlin," was the only thing to roll off her lips, alerting both Harry and Ronald. The boys looked on, and Hermione could see her own surprise mirrored on Ron's features.  
  
"Blimey, Harry. They're bloody creepy, I'll say that," huffed out Ron as they got closer, his blue eyes warily following the creatures' each and every movement like he was scared they were going to do something unexpected.  
  
Harry nodded, adjusting his robes as he walked. There was dark irony in his voice when he replied: "Told you so, didn't I?"  
  
The rest of the walk was quiet up until they boarded one of the creaky carriages, accompanied by Ginny, Dean and Luna. The boys exchanged some words, some excitement over the possibility of a successful quidditch season, desperately trying to reach the careless friendship they once had - one that was not shadowed by the death of their schoolmates and the guilt that they each felt for their own survival. Ron was talking about trying out even if it felt slightly silly after everything. Might as well make the year count, he stated. Dean nodded his head in unison, pondering out loud whether eight-years would be allowed to even try out or whether that would be considered unfair to all the others. The conversation slid effortlessly to the debate of whether they were seventh or eight year students, as the technicalities of their unique situation had never been properly explained.  
  
The carriage had just set off in its slow movement when Harry was interrupted mid-sentence by Ginny's surprised voice: "Is that Malfoy?"  
  
It was like Ginny's voice had control over all of their heads, the way they turned in unison towards the direction the girl was staring in. And indeed, close to the trees and slightly separated from the rest of the students waiting for their carriage, there was Draco Malfoy alongside with Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and, surprisingly, Pansy Parkinson. The four of them were huddled together but oddly distant, each actively avoiding any and every eye contact they possibly could - even each other's. It was evident that they were feeling awfully unwelcome, the tension clear in all of their postures. Pansy was looking at her own feet, nervously tapping the side of her leg with her wand. Silver sparks emitted from the end of it, disappearing quickly into the darkness.  
  
"Why did they even bother coming back?" Asked Dean, shaking his head. He was stretching his neck to see them even better, clearly not bothering to hide his curiosity - or animosity.  
  
"I suppose they want to finish their studies like the rest of us," said Luna serenely, looking away. "Theodore Nott ought to visit Madame Pomfrey, though, his brain is full of wrackspurts. Quite tiring, those creatures."  
  
Hermione didn't pay much attention to the usual babbles of Luna, her eyes still scanning Draco as their carriage was slowly moving forward. The boy looked skinnier than before, his sharp bones even more evident through his pale skin; there were dark circles around his eyes, telling secret tales of sleepless nights. Hermione shook her head as she turned back to her friends: "Merlin. Draco looks ghastly, doesn't he?"  
  
"I hope he feels worse than ghastly," Ron muttered, looking away with a sullen expression.  
  
"Their parents lost half of their fortune paying off for their crimes," Ginny chimed in, shaking her head in bewilderment. She turned to Dean, nudging his side with a smirk. "I wonder how Draco's going to support his sense of entitlement now that he's one of the commoners."  
  
Hermione tore off her gaze from the sad sight of the disgraced wizard, instead turning her attention to her own hands. Her fingers were nervously picking at her own nails that were already looking torn and almost bloodied - the girl had picked up the habit over the summer, and the others had quickly learned that it had something to do with her copious attempts of coping with her stress and anxiety. They all had theirs, really. None that they wanted to talk about, but they all knew that the habits were there - undiscussed, but silently accepted. Harry had, however, noticed that Hermione's anxiety had gotten far worse after she had returned from Australia, where she had tracked down her parents to regain the memories she had stolen from them - she had insisted on going alone, but they had all doubted her health. But nevertheless, she had went, alone. Only packing the necessities in her worn-down bag, a sullen, empty expression in her eyes when she hugged her goodbyes.  
  
"You think she'll be okay?" Ginny had asked merely minutes after Hermione had gone, turning to her brothers for encouragement.  
  
Harry had nodded, trying to hide his own concern with a smile. "She's Hermione. Knowing her, she'll be back before we notice."  
  
**June 10th, 1998**  
  
Hermione closed her eyes as the salty ocean breeze brushed over her, sending her hair flying with it. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but a welcome one. Somehow it felt very cleansing, like for a moment she was completely anew, detached from everything that felt off about her current life. Away from her friends, away from the memories. Australia was miles and miles away, and for a brief moment she felt at ease looking at the ocean now coloured golden by the setting sun in the horizon. Quiet jazz music wafted from the livingroom, the sound of it making Hermione frown; her parents had never listened to jazz before. There were still traces of their made up lives, of Monica and Wendell Wilkins, in them. The occasional gesture, the occasional strange habit. The name plate on their door. Here live the Wilkins, it still said. A sullen, ironic smile twitched at Hermione's lips, and she felt lost again.  
  
"Hermione? Sweetheart?" Her father's voice made Hermione nearly jump, and when she turned around, there was an apologetic look on his features. "Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you."  
  
Hermione smiled tensely as her father made his way to her, leaning against the wooden railing. Silence set between them, one that lasted for almost two minutes - the girl kept counting every second, tapping an incoherent rhythm on the railing as her father stared at the setting sun.  
  
"She'll be better soon, sweetie," Mr. Granger eventually reassured, flashing a warm smile. "She just feels a tad bit lost, darling. It's an odd feeling to get your memories back, I'll tell you that. I still feel a bit... Out of place."  
  
"I know," Hermione sighed. Suddenly she felt dumb for feeling disappointed at the fact that her parents weren't completely same as before. "Has she said anything to you... About this?"  
  
Her father shrugged. "She's still a bit confused. But she's not angry, I promise you that."  
  
Relief. The feeling washed over Hermione as she heard the words, and her eyes started to burn with incoming tears. For days she had been terrified of her mother's reaction, because she had been acting awfully distant ever since getting her memories back - like she had resented her own daughter for what she had did. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Positively so," Mr. Granger answered, nodding with a reassuring smile. His eyes wafted towards the sunset again, taking in the sight that had gotten so very familiar to him the past months - it felt odd, of course, remembering both of his lives. The real one and the one that had felt so very real for so long. Sometimes it felt challenging even separating the two, and it had taken some time to sort out his real and fabricated memories - and he had gotten better. The ones magic had created had this strange feel to it, one that could not be explained. "Your mother just needs to sort herself out. I had to, as well."  
  
"I'm sorry, dad," Hermione whispered, feeling all the more guilty. She buried her face into her hands, the tears burning her eyes again.  
  
"Now, now. None of that, darling," her father said softly, pulling his daughter to his side like he had done so many times before. "We're all going to be just fine, Hermione. And you made sure of that a year ago."  
  
They stood there like that, for a while. Silently watching the sun set, watching the waves of the ocean turn golden, then orange, then red. All the while darkness of the night was slowly creeping up on them, bringing promises of a better tomorrow - or one should hope so, anyway. Hermione felt more comforted than she had in weeks, feeling her father's arms around here like years before, even if they both felt completely and utterly changed by the war. Something was the same, at least, and Hermione found solace in that truth.  
  
"Your mother wishes to stay," Mr. Granger said quietly over a cup of tea later that evening.  
  
"What?" The word slipped of Hermione's lips alongside with her sip of hot tea. She huffed out as she realized the tea had stained her shirt, shaking her head as she dabbed on the fabric with a napkin. Her father's words kept playing in her head like an awful curse she couldn't get rid of.  
  
"She says that there's been far too much change in too little time," Hermione's father explained. "She wishes to stay, at least for a few months. So she can get better and settle back into her own life."  
  
"She can't do that here!" Hermione quipped, her voice raising unexpectadly. "Her life is not here! Her life is in England, with you and me!"  
  
Her father raised his hand quietly, silently asking for his daughter to calm down. "I know, Hermione. But you must give her the chance to realize that. Just for a few months."  
  
Just for a few months. The thought felt violent, strange, wrong - and yet, Hermione felt like a complete idiot for thinking that her parents would be ready to get back to normal the second she'd reach them. Like they hadn't spent the last year thinking they were completely different people than they really were, like they didn't get a lifetime of memories dumped on them in an instant. Of course her mother would need some time to feel like herself again. It was only rational. And yet Hermione felt complete and utter disappointment as she settled into the thought of it, shaking her head as she took another sip of her tea.  
  
"Alright then," she finally admitted, avoiding her father's gaze.  
  
"We will all be just fine, darling. I assure you that," Mr. Granger said, flashing his daughter a smile so familiar, it made Hermione feel warm again. For a brief moment they were them, just at a slightly different time and in a very different place. And maybe she could live with that.  
  
"I sure do hope so," the girl answered, a smile twitching at her lips. "Because this local tea tastes horrendous."  
  
**September 1st, 1998**  
  
The Great Hall was just about buzzing with the excited chatter of hundreds of students, the new and the ones that had returned. People were talking over each other, people were shouting from one table to the other - there was joy, relief. People were happy to be back, even if some things felt slightly out of place. Hermione fixed her robes as she listened to Ginny and Ron's conversation with her other ear, a conversation that was also being listened by the new first-years that had just been sorted into their house. They were ogling that older witches and wizards with wide eyes, drinking in every word of the more experience sorcerer's that had seen real battle; it almost seemed like every new student wanted to hear about the Battle of Hogwarts, and Ronald was more than pleased to deliver.  
  
"Is it really true that you took out one of the trolls that You-Know-Who had recruited?" Asked a second year girl with ill-fitting glasses that were constantly sliding down her nose.  
  
A sharp laugh escaped Hermione's lips before she could stop herself, and she turned to Ron with a mischievous smile. "Yes, Ronald, is that really true?"  
  
Ron's face flashed a brighter red than his hair, and for a few seconds the boy stammered for words awkwardly. "Well, uh... Some thing's might've got lost in translation or-"  
  
"Or you just made that whole thing up, you bloody git!" Chimed in Ginny, earning a smile from both Harry and Hermione. Ron rolled his eyes like a dramatic child, stabbing his pumpkin pie with slightly more force than was necessary.  
  
The conversation turned into bland noise in Hermione's ears when her friends started going through the stages of the battle yet again - some of them excited, some of them less so. She had never really felt the need to talk about that night and detested the fact that so many night at the Burrow this past summer had been spent exchanging war stories. All it did for her was bring back memories she'd rather forget and make her more anxious about everything. Hermione's brown eyes scanned the buzzing hall with her gaze, stopping every now and then when she spotted a familiar face in the crowd - each time she did, she felt a little warmth in her heart to know that people had truly come back. They were all back. All students seemed to be in mighty high spirits, which might've been the reason why Draco Malfoy's face stood out in the crowd like no other; his expression, the proud way he used to carry himself with long gone.  
  
Hermione let herself look at him for slightly longer that was probably polite, her eyes taking in every little change in the boy that was now nearly a man. His hair was different, slightly less kept - it almost suited him. His cheekbones struck out from under his skin, sharp enough to cut you if you got close enough to touch. There was a hollow look in his gray eyes when he looked at his friends, clearly uninterested in whatever was the subject in their little group. Hermione's curious eyes had only been on Draco for a few seconds when a pair of sharp, gray eyes met a pair of brown ones, and the witch flinched hard enough to flip her spoon off of the wooden table. Ron's eyes darted to her with curiosity, but the girl did not answer his gaze with her own, instead staring at the table with her cheeks heating up enough to melt the ice cream served on the table. And when she finally dared to steal a glance at the Slytherin table again, Draco did not answer her gaze.  
  
The night had dragged on to late hours by the time students started making their way to the common rooms, many of them in a tired haze from over-eating at the feast. Chatter had become quieter, the little conversations being exchanged were almost drowned out by the sounds of hundreds of feet walking on the stone floors. Ron and Harry were walking many steps ahead of Hermione, engaged in a heated conversation about the Slytherin returnees: Hermione could catch a word every now and then, but mostly she preferred to tune them out as she made her way. The hollow look in Draco's eyes haunted her, and she couldn't stop the image from popping into her head without her will.   
  
"Granger," Hermione felt herself flinch yet again when Draco's voice caught her ear, pulling her attention to the boy who was walking a step behind her. Most of the masses had already walked past them, and it was quite obvious that the boy had waited for witnesses to be far off enough not to tell the tale of their encounter.  
  
"What do you want?" Hermione's words were rude at best the way they slipped off of her lips, yet there was no surprise to be found on Draco's features at the hostile reception. His expression remained neutral.   
  
"I didn't know you would come back," the boy stated, staring something far ahead. Not even bothering to look at her. "Although, should be no great surprise that the big heroes of the battles would return. Weasley's certainly enjoying it all. His one great moment of fame."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at the familiar, sharp edge on Draco's voice. "You're bitter. You lost your entire platform the moment the battle was over. We all get it, but you're a pathetic oaf for still thinking you're better than any of us."  
  
A smile graced Draco's lips for the first time since he had returned to the school, albeit one that was very, very sullen and ironic - there was no real joy in his hollow eyes. "Well, shiver my timbers, I guess you've gotten some edge to you, Granger. Perhaps there's finally something interesting about you. "   
  
Hermione pulled to a complete halt, surprising Draco. The boy took a few steps and stopped as well, showing his hands to his pockets. There was genuine anger in Hermione's brown eyes, sharper than before - she had grown harder. The girl shook her head and stated: "I can't believe you still have the nerve to talk to anyone like this after everything that you've done. Your arrogant pride is such a hollow little sentiment these days, Draco. We all know who you really are."   
  
"That's the thing, Granger," Draco said, pondering on his words with a thoughtful expression. "Just because I'm back at this ghastly castle doesn't mean that I'm gonna let Potter or Weasley walk all over me. You have no idea who I am."  
  
"And I don't wish to know, Malfoy," Hermione answered, her voice as cold as her expression.  
  
Draco's lips twitched with that same, cold smile again. The expression was a gone in a heartbeat, though, replaced by that same, blank mask that Hermione had seen so many times before. "Good. Just stay out of my way, and you'll never find out, either."   
  
And with that, the blonde wizard threw one last burning look at the girl and started walking away, his brisk steps echoing from the walls long after he had disappeared from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? share my your ideas and comments, I'd be happy to read them xx

**Author's Note:**

> Comments much appreciated! xx  
> 


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